Fish and Chips Friday
by Sarah1281
Summary: While Sherlock is dead, Mycroft and John keep in touch. Pre-season three.


Fish and Chips Friday

Note: To Dlvvanzor for her birthday.

John didn't know how Mycroft managed it but every Friday Mycroft showed up at the restaurant within five minutes of John's arrival. At first, John just thought that it was natural since John tended to arrive at around the same time and so Mycroft, by arriving so shortly afterwards, was also arriving approximately on time. Yes John always made it there first but that didn't mean anything.

Until one day he wasn't feeling his best and so took a nap and woke up five minutes before he was supposed to be at a restaurant twenty minutes away.

He was vaguely worried the whole way that Mycroft would be annoyed at being kept waiting. Nobody liked to be kept waiting and Mycroft undoubtedly had more pressing things he could be doing than most people since he was – as Sherlock liked to put it – the British government.

But to his surprise Mycroft wasn't there either. His surprise soon turned to somewhat hypocritical annoyance. Sure he was late as well but he had overslept and surely someone like Mycroft had people to make sure he didn't do that. If he was going to be late because there was some absolutely vital matter of national importance to be dealt with, couldn't he at least call?

But then, three minutes later, Mycroft came in as well. Curious.

Some might say that it was odd that he and Mycroft Holmes had fish and chips together every Friday. It never felt odd but sometimes when John sat back and tried to look at it objectively he realized it kind of was. But then, literally everything about knowing Sherlock had been as well so John wasn't too bothered.

He had seen Mycroft fairly regularly back when Sherlock had been alive and they had a good working relationship. Mycroft needed Sherlock's help with something and Sherlock refused no matter how interesting he knew it would be because Mycroft asked him to do it so John stepped in and started investigating and Sherlock followed him around and solved it, pretending that he would have done it anyway even though they all knew that if it had just been Sherlock and Mycroft Sherlock would have ignored the case. Sherlock was concerning them with his behavior and risking slipping back into addiction or getting himself killed and so John and Mycroft met up to discuss the matter and work out a plan of action. It was all always going to be about Sherlock. They weren't friends and they didn't want to be but they got along just fine.

But now Sherlock was gone and they were still meeting up even more regularly than before. John wasn't quite sure how that had even become a weekly ritual.

He had been furious as Mycroft for his part in Sherlock's death. Yes he knew that Mycroft loved Sherlock every bit as much as John himself did and was just as devastated by his death but that didn't mean that it wasn't Mycroft's fault it happened, at least in part.

John had been so blindsided by everything that had happened and so distraught by what happened afterwards that it took him a full month to try and piece it together. From what he understood, Mycroft had given Moriarty the information he needed to take down Sherlock in exchange for possibly fraudulent information to take down his empire. Well Moriarty was dead now so that wasn't of much use. Sherlock had helped by being the kind of person people wanted to see fall from grace but it couldn't have happened without Mycroft.

He hadn't wanted anything to do with the other man but Mycroft had evidently been concerned, no doubt looking out for him because it was what Sherlock would have wanted and he didn't want to fail him in death as he had failed him in life. John had kept rebuffing him until one day Mycroft just kept pushing so John had sarcastically suggested that Mycroft go join him for some fish and chips.

It was stiff and awkward and neither of them really said anything but somehow every Friday without fail they both turned up at the same shop.

John looked at his watch pointedly as Mycroft strolled into the establishment. "Four minutes and forty-eight seconds. Careful, you were almost late."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow and sat down across from John, setting his umbrella next to him on the booth. "I haven't the slightest idea what you mean."

"No, of course not," John agreed, straight-faced. "I know that I find it perfectly normal to always arrive within five minutes of another person week in and week out."

Mycroft gave him a strange look. "We do always come at six-thirty. What is so odd about me arriving so close to you when we have a set time we are expected to be here? It is no more unlikely an event than you always arriving after me, the two of us being the first to arrive half of the time, or any other combination you can think of."

"Well, no but surely you arriving before me at least once is a more likely scenario than you literally never doing it."

"The combined probability of any outcome other than the outcome that happened is always more likely than what did happen," Mycroft countered. "Provided, of course, that the probability in question is not something like 'I get wet when going outside while it's raining and I have no umbrella' where the probability is one hundred percent or close to it."

John quickly deduced that Mycroft was being difficult on purpose. "I'm just saying, since I don't always arrive on time myself it's awfully convenient."

"If I arrive after you then however would I possibly know when you arrive, John?" Mycroft asked. "Last week when I was twenty-five minutes later, begging your pardon once more, how am I to know if you arrived on time or twenty minutes late yourself? For all I know, you arrived once this shop opened and sat there all day waiting for me."

John laughed. "Not actually that pathetic, thanks. But speaking of, I was thinking more along the lines of you getting here before I do and waiting until I go in before following me but trying not to do so immediately after or it would be really obvious what you're doing."

"And why would I do that?" Mycroft asked politely.

John shrugged. "It's not the kind of creepy thing I would do so I can only speculate."

"By all means."

"Well this isn't really your kind of place so maybe you don't want to be in here without me," John suggested.

Mycroft shot him a withering look. "Since when do I give off the impression of being a teenager, John?"

"I don't know about that but you are definitely giving me the vibe of having escaped from Mary Poppins."

Mycroft was about to reply when the waiter came by and took their order.

"Mary Poppins?" he asked the moment they were alone again.

"Well, yeah," John said, nodding at the umbrella.

"Does everyone with an umbrella remind you of Mary Poppins?" Mycroft demanded.

"No but most people only have an umbrella when it's raining out."

"It _is _raining out," Mycroft pointed out.

"Yes but you always have one."

"I didn't have one the last three times I saw you," Mycroft said.

John tried to think back. "It's entirely possible but I don't remember it that way so it doesn't count."

"Next time I see you I won't bring an umbrella, even if it is raining, and I'll prove it to you," Mycroft declared.

John nodded. "You could do that, yeah, but then I'll be forced to assume you left it behind this one time to prove a point. Besides, I haven't see Mary Poppins since the eighties but I'm sure she put the umbrella down at some point. Actually, I'm not even sure why I associate her so strongly with umbrellas but I definitely remember she had one at some point."

"Perhaps it was raining," Mycroft suggested mildly.

"Besides, she's a magical nanny and if you don't have magical powers as well then you deserve to get paid more," John said.

"John, you have no idea how much I get paid," Mycroft pointed out.

"It doesn't even matter. You would deserve more."

"It's nice to see that you're buying into the myth," Mycroft murmured. "He used to talk about making me into an urban legend like Slenderman but whenever he had the time he was always afflicted by ennui. I should be thankful, I suppose."

Sherlock of course.

"Myth?" John repeated, wondering vaguely when he started being able to talk about Sherlock without it feeling like the world was ending. "I've seen you in action. Or at least seen the proof of you in action. Metaphorical action really. But you know what I mean."

"Indeed. Though I wouldn't say I'm much of a nanny."

"Sherlock."

"Well-" Mycroft broke off, looking taken aback. John considered this a victory. "Well."

"What do you think Sherlock would say if he knew that we did this?" John wondered suddenly.

"It's hard to say," Mycroft said thoughtfully. "Obviously he would react negatively. He could think we were so desperate without him that we were forced to turn to each other as the next best thing. He could be jealous of our time together and think he was being replaced. He could assume that I'm trying to get you to spy on him or make him behave like a rational adult."

Well he couldn't argue with that. He wouldn't even be comforted by the fact that they spent most of their time talking about him as that was only to be expected in Sherlock's world.

John's lip twitched. "In which case he'd demand that I at least get paid well and then we'd split the money. He could be rather mercenary when it comes to getting money from you given that he wouldn't take money from some of our clients because he wanted to solve their case without having to take input from them."

"Oh, taking money from me has never been something Sherlock has had an issue with," Mycroft replied. "Actually having to see me is another matter. If I could just throw money at him from a passing car that would be ideal, really."

"He was getting better," John protested half-heartedly.

"All your influence," Mycroft claimed.

"You…might be right."

"You haven't asked me about Anthea yet," Mycroft noted. "Something must be going on."

John coughed. "You make it sound like I'm obsessed."

"I don't mean to imply anything more or less than you literally always ask me about her."

"I'm just curious is all," John claimed. "She made quite an impression on me when I met her what with the kidnapping and completely ignoring my existence in favor of texting. And I'd never met an Anthea before or someone who was so very clearly using a fake name. And then after all that she didn't even recognize me at the end. I tried to convince myself that she had that thing where she can't remember faces-"

"Prosopagnosia," Mycroft helpfully identified.

"…Sure," John said. "But I didn't really believe it. And I haven't seen her since then. Did something happen to her? Did she get fired?"

"Nothing happened to her. As I keep explaining, I couldn't go out and meet you personally that first time because I didn't want Sherlock to know I was interfering but you went right out and told him and you had passed the test by then anyway. Fascinating as your exploits with my brother were, Anthea does have other work to do and it's best to deal with my brother directly. Or through you, at least."

"Hm," John said noncommittally, still shooting suspicious looks at Mycroft.

"Oh for heaven's sake, John, would you like me to bring her to dinner next week? Would that satisfy you?" Mycroft asked, rolling his eyes.

John personally would have thought he'd have a higher annoyance threshold after dealing with Sherlock for all those years. Well, time to make him proud.

"I don't know," John said slowly. "That would be plenty of time for you to rehire her or convince her to come or even to go get her rescued from whatever perilous situation she's currently in."

"I don't think even Sherlock would accuse me of that much," Mycroft said after a moment.

"Maybe not but he'd at least be thinking it," John replied. "I'm just concerned, really. She seemed nice."

"You were trying to get a date," Mycroft corrected. "And speaking of, you haven't told me anything about what you've been up to recently and do not believe that I am that easy to distract."

"No, God forbid you lot do anything easily," John muttered. "Why do you always ask me what I'm doing and yet never tell me anything?"

"I tell you plenty of things," Mycroft said, almost looking offended. "Is it my fault that my position as a minor official in the British government is so dull to you?"

"Or is too punishable by death to tell me," John said. "But you don't even tell me about _that_. And the one story you did mention about the time you went to get a flu shot was so obviously redacted that it didn't form a coherent hole."

"Perhaps I am just not a skilled storyteller," Mycroft suggested. "And I did assure you that I got the shot in the end."

"After a massive cover-up, I'm sure," John said. "If Sherlock were here you never would have been content to imply you were bad at anything. Not unless you knew it would wind him up. So, actually, you might have just done the same thing…"

"It is a petty man indeed who will not admit to his own failings," Mycroft said, nodding sagely. "I'm sure that you could have written up the story of my flu shot – or your own, more practically – quite admirably. I did so enjoy your blog."

"You always knew all those things I couldn't say in the blog of national security purposes," John replied. "But I made it pretty clear that was why I couldn't say and so people understood and weren't confused."

"John, really, how do you think people would react if I went around telling people I couldn't tell them why a simple flu shot took four days because of national security?" Mycroft asked rhetorically. "They'd think I was delusional or lying or just showing off."

"No, I can vouch that you are quite above that," John said agreeably.

"Your life, John," Mycroft said pointedly.

John stared back just as pointedly.

Mycroft sighed. "Since last week I went into work six days, attempted to go food shopping, and saw an Agatha Christie play."

John blinked at him. "Sorry, when you say 'attempted to go food shopping' do you mean-"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you why me going to Tesco's involved a hostage situation and a bomb that nearly detonated," Mycroft replied. "Nor how a horse got involved. It's a matter of national security."

John made a face. "Oh, that did not happen."

"It is perhaps for the best that you believe that," Mycroft said.

"You're doing it on purpose."

"Having such interesting errands? No, I assure you I would have been happier to have just been in and out of there like when most people go Tesco's," Mycroft replied. "But you do find it annoying when I'm claiming national security I take it?"

"Maybe a little," John admitted. "But that still doesn't mean-"

"Well now that I told you what I was up to perhaps you'll do the same," Mycroft interrupted.

John sighed. "_Fine_. I met someone."

"Just one person?" Mycroft asked. "My but you must have had a slow week!"

"A girl."

"That still seems like a rather small number, particularly for a doctor," Mycroft said.

"I met a girl and her name is Mary and I like her very much and she asked me out," John said.

"Oh?" Mycroft asked, looking politely interested.

"And I'm sure you already know all of this anyway," John told him.

Mycroft appeared surprised. "Why would you think that? Surely I have more important things to concern myself with than stalking you. It does seem a little uncharacteristically egomaniacal for you to assume otherwise."

John decided to let it go but he still looked suspiciously at Mycroft. He wouldn't believe that Sherlock's brother didn't know pretty much everything he was about to tell him. "She just started at work. She's a nurse. According to her, she had to ask me out three times before I got it but I'm not sure if I believe that. I'm generally not that daft but I haven't exactly dated anyone since…"

Mycroft nodded. "Since you even mentioned this, I assume that you intend to say yes?"

"I don't even know if it'll go anywhere. If we don't click right away then it'll still be casual enough that it won't be a problem but if it turns into something more and doesn't work out then at least I had the experience with Sarah where I know how to salvage a working relationship. She's a damn good nurse, you know. I don't think I could date someone I worked with if they weren't good at their jobs."

"I wouldn't be able to, either," Mycroft said. "Of course, dating someone I work with would be quite impossible for a number of reasons and if I knew that someone was bad at their job then it wouldn't even matter what that job was as it would…negatively impact my perception of them."

John laughed. "I'm not quite that bad. I just hate working with people who don't know what they're doing and I don't think I'd be able to see past the annoyance to be attracted to them."

"It's difficult to put yourself back out there in the dating market after losing someone," Mycroft said sympathetically.

John gave him a look. "If I had a pound for every person who has acted like a lost a lover in Sherlock I could have paid for the funeral myself."

"Fortunately you didn't have to as I'm assuming people don't pay you when they do that."

"I know that you, at least, know the truth," John said flatly.

"And I'm sure you would have expected Mrs. Hudson, as your landlady, to also know the truth and yet we all know how that worked out," Mycroft replied.

"The fact you even know that…" John began before trailing off and shaking his head. "Never mind. It's no less than I expected anyway."

"But it is different now that things have changed," Mycroft said delicately.

John nodded. "In some ways it might be easier. Every girlfriend I've had since I met Sherlock all broke up with me because of something Sherlock-related. Not that it's all his fault, I did choose how I reacted to him and if they felt neglected that was my choice. Mary and anyone else I might date in the future will never have to do that. Never have to worry about being kidnapped on the first date."

Mycroft looked thoughtful. "But they, especially this one, will have to deal with your grief and I think that that will be a good deal more difficult than you running off to solve mysteries with Sherlock. I do not know anything about this Miss Morstan-"

John snorted. He wasn't even trying.

"But I do know that if she can help you with this then she will be good for you. And if your relationship can withstand the grief then it most certainly could have withstood Sherlock."

John had to smile at that. "I'd like to think that. Who knows? Maybe Mary and Sherlock could even have become friends."

Mycroft blinked at him. "…Really?"

John shrugged. "I'll never know so why not imagine the best?"

"But do you really believe that it could happen?" Mycroft pressed.

"It'll never happen because he's dead so I can add some other impossible things, too," John said. "The two of them would team up for my birthday and catch me a unicorn."

"You want a unicorn?" Mycroft asked, surprised.

"Why wouldn't I want a unicorn? It's an armed horse," John pointed out.

Mycroft opened his mouth and then closed it again. "That is true."

"You want a unicorn now, too, don't you?" John teased.

Mycroft gave John a rather imperious look. "Don't be ridiculous, John."

"Ridiculous, is it?" John asked

"I don't do things by halves. I would demand an _army_ of unicorns."


End file.
